


Maybe I've always been more comfortable in chaos

by gallifreyandglowclouds



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 07:06:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3719686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifreyandglowclouds/pseuds/gallifreyandglowclouds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is anticipating another boring summer working in this small seaside town in Scotland, and then, well, Harry shows up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [louis_fringe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/louis_fringe/gifts).



> I would like to make a slight apology to the prompter - I made this happen in summer, not in spring. Title is from Florence and the Machine's 'St. Jude'.  
> (As far as trigger/squick warnings go - chapter 1 includes details of a near drowning; chapter 2 has a few scenes which take place in a hospital.)

Louis should – Louis should really, really get a real job. Managing his ex-stepdad’s summer rental properties in a pathetically small town in Scotland is probably not a real job. See, that’s the thing about St. Andrews – it’s not really known for its beautiful beaches, though that one where Chariots of Fire was filmed is pretty nice for a sunset, if Louis is going to be entirely fair, but people come here to golf, and take some pictures of Renaissance-era ruins when they can’t golf. The town is dead, completely devoid of anyone Louis’ age after university lets out for the summer, and so, he’s basically stuck taking care of lame, middle-aged renters for the summer. At least he’s got a pass to the university library so he can work on his dissertation over the summer. (He knows that things are desperate when he’s holding on to that as a positive.)

He has to let a family – parents, two adult kids, according to the rental information that Mark’s given him – into one of the flats overlooking East Sands this afternoon, but Louis fortunately has the morning free to dick around. He goes for a run, dashing up and down the hill by Morrison’s, and then surfs the web to his heart’s content. He should be doing something real, like his coursework for the summer, but Reddit is a neverending font of procrastination, so he opts for that instead.

He pulls on some actual clothes – jeans, because it’s only fifteen degrees outside, what the fuck Scotland – and grabs the keys for the house, and sets off at a leisurely pace. According to Mark, who is off fixing something one of his student lets broke, high winds have closed the Forth Bridge today, so Louis has a good amount of time to get there, quickly make sure nothing is obviously broken at the flat, and then sit outside and wait for the people letting it to come along. It’s a long lease, he notices, here for all of July and the first week of August, so they’re not just coming for the Open and dashing off after a week. Cool.

Once he’s checked that all the appliances are in working order, and that there aren’t any broken dishes, he pulls one of the armchairs off the carpet and places it close to the window. He plants himself in it, launches up Fruit Ninja, and peeks out occasionally, watching out for the tenants.

It takes nearly an hour. He always forgets how convenient the Forth Bridge is for driving, but, he supposes, you don’t really appreciate things until they’re gone. A posh Mercedes pulls up outside, and Louis stands up, puts the chair back, carefully lining it up with the little indents on the carpet, and heads downstairs, putting on his ‘I am totally a nice, clean-cut boy who does not hate that he’s stuck in the middle of buttfuck nowhere for the summer’ face, in order to greet the nice paying customers.

“Hi!” He says, forcing cheer into his voice. “Welcome to St. Andrews.”

“Hello, then,” says the older man who has just climbed awkwardly out of the driver’s side of the car. “You don’t sound like you’re from around here, my friend.”

“I’m Doncaster born and raised,” Louis says, “but I like to give Mark a hand in the summers.”

“Ah, a good Yorkshireman,” the man replies. “I’m Robin, and this is my wife Anne, and the straggler still inside the car on this lovely sunny day is Harry. Our older daughter’s just wrapping up work for the week, and she’s coming up to join us soon.”

Louis peeks inside the car window, waves a little at the person still inside, and then focuses his attention back on Anne and Robin. “So, can I help you both with your bags?”

It’s as he’s helping extract the biggest fucking suitcases he’s ever seen out of the boot that he notices the son as he gets out of the car – and holy shit, he’s happy he does, because Harry is possibly one of the most beautiful people that Louis has ever seen, and that’s even factoring in the ridiculous floral patterned shirt, which no one should be able to pull off, jeggings, which, again, no one should be able to pull off, and long, brown curls, which, again, no one should be able to pull off – _and yet, he does._

Louis has to pretend that his mouth doesn’t go dry, but the issue is that Harry seems to be one of those people who knows that people know that he’s hot as fuck, and he just catches Louis’ gaze lasting a second too long, and gives him a little smile.

“Hey,” he says, giving Louis a little wave, and oh no, he’s got that stupid deep voice, and Louis is so, so fucked. “You need a hand with that?”

Louis is taken off guard somewhat, and then – right, he needs to stay on task here. “Um, I think I should be fine, but thanks.”

“Cool,” Harry replies.

With Robin’s help, Louis gets the bags upstairs, and gives the family a little bit of a tour around the flat, showing them how all the appliances work and such, before he’s ready to go.

“Right, then,” he says, “I think that’s all sorted for you guys. You’ve got mine and Mark’s mobile number here, so just get in touch if you need anything, alright?”

“Thanks, Louis,” Anne says. “We’ll be in touch if anything comes up.”

Louis gives them a polite little nod, and lets himself out of the flat, and realises that if he’s got Harry, lovely, wonderful Harry, around for the next month or so, then he’s in more trouble than he can fathom.

Louis knows that he’s going to run into Harry again, whether it’s shopping for groceries or light bulbs or something stupid like that, but he forgets, of course, that he’s left his mobile number with him, so that’s why he’s woken up rather rudely by a text message at 2:30 the next morning, because apparently, Harry is a deranged insomniac.

* * *

 

_Heyyyyyyyyyy._

Louis doesn’t know anyone who talks like that. _Sorry, who is this?_

_Harry? U don’t remember me?_

Oh. That’s an interesting new development. _How’d you get this #?_

_U gave it to me when we got here today._

Of course. It’s like, the smoothest pick up ever. Why hasn’t he tried this before? _Cool. So why aren’t you asleep?_

_Thinking bout u._

_Serious?_

_Yeah._

_Was hoping u mite show me around town?_

_Don’t know St Andrews that well, mate._

_U know it better than I do._

Louis knows instinctively that this is not a fight he will win. _Fine. Meet you tomorrow? Need to work in the morning, but might be able to hang in the afternoon._

_Sweet. Meet u here at 2?_

_See you then, Harry._

* * *

 

Louis usually hates going around and talking to tenants, because customer service is not his strong suit, but, well, if he’s trying to be a teacher when he grows up, he should probably work on his people skills. This morning, however, seems to drag on more than most, with the old lady on Tom Jones Drive complaining that the heat wasn’t working (a simple matter of turning it on correctly, he discovers), or having to politely ask the PhD student staying in the flat on North Street to please do the dishes before they get mouldy (Louis might not have his shit completely together, which is why he’s doing a master’s degree in English and delaying adulthood for as long as possible, but there have never been mouldy dirty dishes on his watch). He keeps checking his watch, sees it inching closer and closer to two, and he literally wants to hop in a time machine and accelerate forward ninety minutes.

He maybe goes home and changes before meeting Harry, which is probably dumb, but he feels like he has to compete against flashy tops, and he settles on his nicest white t-shirt and skinny jeans.

“Where you off to in such a rush?” Mark asks, chewing his sandwich simultaneously (which annoys the hell out of Louis) as Louis dashes down the stairs and slips on his shoes.

“Meeting a friend,” Louis says. “Text if you need anything?”

Mark flashes him a thumbs up, and takes another bite of his sandwich.

He walks along, a skip in his step that he hasn’t felt this – strangely buoyant, perhaps – for a long time. Maybe he and Harry will be friends forever, maybe it’ll be more like a quick, smoldering summer romance – but eh, Louis is reading way too much into this, and he’s literally going to walk this guy through three streets for like, two hours max. He does not need to worry so much about this.

He knocks on the door of the flat and sticks his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet.

“Hello!” Anne says, as she opens the door. “Harry will just be a moment. Do you want to come in?”

Harry _told his mom_ that they were getting together today. He can’t even – god, this guy.

He takes a seat on the futon that he helped Mark pick out at Ikea, feeling slightly awkward even though he’d spent the better part of the last week cleaning it out.

Harry breezes out of the bedroom, painted-on jeans and a slightly more conservative shirt today. “Good afternoon, Mr. Tomlinson,” he says. “Ready for an adventure?”

“I don’t know how adventurous a day we’re going to have, Harry,” Louis replies, standing up. “But I can promise you a decent fudge donught.”

“Great,” Harry says. “I love all kinds of donughts.” He stuffs his wallet and his phone in his back pocket, waves to his parents, and then he and Louis head out.

“So,” Louis says, unconsciously holding his breath to avoid the overwhelming smell of seafood from the day’s catch, “what do you want to see?”

“All your favourite things,” Harry says. “Like, I need to know where the best pub in town is, and the best grocery store, that kind of thing.”

Louis laughs. “I’ll use my two summers of experience here and do my best, then.”

They walk up the hill towards the cathedral, and wind past it, stopping, of course, for Harry to peek inside and take a look at the graveyard.

“That’s a little creepy,” he says. “Filling up the cathedral ruins with graves?”

Louis shrugs, because to be entirely fair, he hasn’t actually given that much thought. “I suppose. But what else were they going to do with it?”

“Fair enough,” Harry replies.

They make their way past the houses and the secondary school, to the top of South Street, and Louis is trying to be good and point out all the nice historical stuff, but as it turns out, he has the most easily distractable person ever with him, and of course, Harry wants ice cream.

“See,” Harry says, pointing to a laminated poster outside, “it’s one of the best ice cream parlours in the whole country. We have to go in.”

“Are you sure you aren’t going to run out of things to do?” Louis says, hands on his hips. Truth be told, he’s never actually gotten ice cream here. “You’ve been here, what, less than twenty-four hours?”

“I’m practically counting on running out of things to do,” Harry says. “Why do you think I’m trying to make friends with you?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Let’s just go get a fucking ice cream cone, then, alright?”

Harry flashes him a thumbs up.

It turns out that, despite all the weirdness, blueberry cheesecake is an excellent ice cream flavour. Harry goes for Irn-Bru, because he feels has to (“We are in Scotland, my dear Louis”), and has to abandon his cone halfway through, so he and Louis share, until they finish it, and then, of course, the promised fudge donught is required. They wander down the Scores, past all the old university buildings, and then sit down on the giant rock outside the aquarium, jutting out of the sea because the tide is far out.

“You’re right,” Harry says, mouth full of cake and cream, “this is probably the best donught I’ve ever had.”

“The town has its charms,” Louis says. “These get me through study sessions, to be honest.”

“Mate, it’s the summertime,” Harry says, laughing. “You shouldn’t be studying.”

“You’re clearly not doing your masters, then,” Louis says, shaking his head. “The only damn reason I took this job was so that I could be in proximity to three good university libraries.”

Harry shakes his head. “I do not have to think about any of that.” He takes another bite of his donught. “Well, until August at least. Then I’m doing some training at one of the big law firms in London, then back to uni, I guess.”

“Nice,” Louis says, finishing his donught, and crumpling the little bag into his pocket. “At least you’ll end up with a job when you graduate.”

“Your words, not mine.”

“I’m sure my MA in English will do me wonders, Mr. Styles.”

Harry laughs, and leans back on his elbows, basking in the late afternoon sunlight.

* * *

 

One morning, a few days later, Louis is working to try and get the appliance repair person to come fix a boiler, and his phone keeps on buzzing with texts from Harry. When he gets off the phone, he quickly dials Harry’s number, shaking his head.

“Mate,” Louis says, “I’m working, okay?”

“I’m bored,” Harry retorts. “Can I come hang out with you?”

“Probably not.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m working!” As much as Louis would love to see Harry, and possibly fantasize about tracing the outline of the ship tattoo on his shoulder, he has a job that he’s being paid a pittance for, and he needs to do it. “We can go out for a drink or something later.”

“Why not both? I’ll help you with whatever you’re doing.”

Again with Harry and the unwinnable fights. “Fine, you can come help me clean out this flat for the people who are coming to see some golf next week.”

“Can I come meet you at yours in fifteen, then?”

“Fine,” Louis sighs. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

* * *

 

Harry is cute, but a little useless at cleaning. However, Louis figures that, if he keeps coming to work with him, then he’ll get better.

“Shit,” Harry says, as they put the cleaning stuff back in the closet, “I thought this was supposed to be a vacation.”

“Well, you did volunteer, to be fair,” Louis replies. “Can I make you tea in recompense for your great service?”

“I didn’t help at all, Louis.”

“Well, I’m a shitty cook, so we’ll call it even, then.”

“Fair.”

They head back to the house that Louis is sharking with Mark for the summer, and as soon as Louis lets him and Harry in, Harry collapses on the sofa with a dramatic exhale.

“What’s that all about?” Louis yells, peeking into the fridge to see what he can make for Harry.

“You’ve worked me too hard, Tomlinson,” Harry says, hand resting on his forehead. “I need my beauty sleep.”

Louis rolls his eyes, yet can’t quite quell the bubbling of fondness just under his breastbone. “Yeah, alright. How do you feel about pizza, Harry?”

“Fantastic.”

“Great.” He has dough that he made a couple days ago, that’s hopefully still semi-edible, and tomato sauce and cheese and a few other random condiments that hopefully work with those things.

He dusts the countertop with flour and rolls out the dough, trying to push together the little holes that emerge as the dough spreads. He hears soft footsteps behind him, and Harry rests his chin on his shoulder.

“Watcha doin’?” He asks.

“Trying to roll out pizza dough,” Louis says. “It’s a bit of a frustrating process.”

“Huh. No rolling pin?”

“Mark is a single guy with no cooking skills,” Louis says. “I’m barely kitchen competent, but I’ve probably stocked this more than he has in the two years that I’ve stayed with him in the summers.”

“Right,” Harry says. He rifles through the kitchen cupboards, before grabbing a can of tomatoes, and then dusts it with some more flour. “Allow me.”

Louis shifts over to give Harry access to the dough, and he rolls it out expertly.

“Voila.” Harry steps away from the counter and turns towards Louis, gesturing towards the perfectly circular pizza base.

“I’m amazed,” Louis says. “And I’ll keep that trick in mind.”

The pizza is great – Louis can, at the very least, make good tomato sauce and dough, even if the putting it together part is a little bit dicey. Louis flips open his laptop and opens up Netflix.

“What do you want to watch?”

Harry shrugs. “Some stupid superhero movie.”

Louis _loves_ stupid superhero movies. They settle on Iron Man 3, even though Harry hasn’t seen 1 and 2, and promptly spends the next hour quietly asking Louis to explain everything.

“Okay, I’m going to make you sit through all of them now,” Louis whispers to Harry’s last question. “You owe me this much for all your quizzing.”

“Not a problem,” Harry says, smiling. “I love movie nights.”

* * *

 

It becomes like, a thing, him and Harry hanging out. Mark jokes that he should be paying Harry for all this work, but really, Harry just follows Louis around like a lost puppy, and Mark does not need to pay him for that. Harry’s sister Gemma also comes up to join his family, and their summer twosome occasionally becomes a three, driving up and down the Scottish coastline with the windows rolled down.

Harry has an inexplicable love of beaches and picnics, and while the golfers golf behind them, the three of them sit on West Sands, eating sandwiches while also trying to avoid having too much sand blown into their lunches.

“Harry,” Louis says, a hand in front of his wrap as he tries to eat, “this was a terrible idea.”

“But look at the view!” Harry says. “And all this sunshine! Where else, and when else, is it ever this sunny on this stupid island?”

Gemma rolls her eyes, presumably because she’s used to this shit from Harry, but Louis laughs, because even though he has a small black hole where most people have a heart, he loves Harry’s zest for all things to do with life and living.

“Fair point, Harry,” Louis says, though he still quietly blames him when his sandwich is gritty.

The blanket that Harry has grabbed is just large enough for them all to lie on with a small gap between them, but Harry still presses slightly into Louis’ side as they nap after their picnic. Louis appreciates the bit of warmth, because even though it’s brilliantly sunny, it’s still windy, and the weather is not conducive to lying still.

“Hey,” Harry whispers, turning up on his side, flush against Louis.

“Hey?” Louis says, still a little groggy, and a bit surprised to see Harry, top knot and Aviator sunglasses, mere inches from his face.

“I want to go see what the water’s like,” he whispers. “Come with me.”

Louis sits up, takes his sunglasses off, and rubs his eyes. “It’s cold, I can tell you that.”

“You’ve never been in?” Harry asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Never learned how to swim,” Louis says with a shrug. “Don’t really want to.”

“Tsk tsk, Mr. Tomlinson, it’s practically a life skill,” Harry said. “Regardless, get up, I want to go dip my toes in the ocean.”

Louis rolls his eyes, and, probably against his better judgement, follows Harry over to the water’s edge. Harry pulls off his Blundstones and socks and Louis kicks off his Toms, and Harry gingerly waits for a wave to roll in, covering his feet, and he squeals.

“Oh, shit,” he yells. “Oh, shit, that was cold.”

Louis has wisely stayed back from the water, and he shakes his head at Harry. “What did I literally just tell you?”

“I’ll need a wetsuit if I want to go swimming,” Harry says, putting his hands on his hips. Another wave rolls in, and he jumps back just in to avoid getting splashed.

“Or, you know, just don’t swim,” Louis offers. He can sense that he’s not going to have any success in persuading him not to.

“You,” Harry says, marching towards Louis with his boots in hand, “are approximately no fun, did you know that?” He crowds into Louis’ space, and Louis had never realised that a couple inches in height difference could be so weirdly threatening. Or arousing. Or possibly both.

“Will you teach me how to swim, then?” Louis says, peering up at Harry, trying desperately to ignore the little rush of adrenaline and the blush he suspects might be tingeing his cheeks.

“I could be convinced to,” Harry replies, leaning down close to Louis’ ear with his voice nearly a whisper hand ghosting over Louis’ hip. See, Louis is unaware, but Harry’s most likely flirting now.

Louis has no response, not least because Harry’s hand is kind of resting on his hip in a shockingly intimate way, so all he can say is, “Cool.”

He turns away, missing the warmth of Harry’s hand on him, and heads back towards where Gemma is playing with her phone on the picnic blanket.

“You two are a little gross, you know that right?” She says, as they both sit back down on, and then goes back to doing whatever she was doing.

When he looks over at Harry, he’s beaming like the sun, and Louis can’t help but smile back.

* * *

 

Louis gets invited to go clubbing in Dundee with Harry and Gemma and one of her friends, which Louis suspects might have to do with the fact that he has access to a car that is his own. He kind of hates doing it, has only ever been once and left after like, an hour. But, Harry will be there, and Louis knows that he will receive all manner of drunk texts and snapchats if he doesn’t agree.

He rolls up to where the Styles family is staying, and there’s Harry waiting outside, hair looking luscious as ever… and wearing sparkly gold boots.

Louis has to roll down the window. “Are those for real?”

Harry nods. “They’re my party shoes.”

“Your party shoes?”

Harry nods. “Gemma hates them too, don’t worry.”

Louis shakes his head. “I could not possibly hate those.”

“Thanks, mate.” Harry walks around to the other side and hops in the passenger seat. “The girls are just getting ready, they won’t be a minute. Sorry about that.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Louis says, leaning back in the seat. “I have all sisters. I’m kind of used to it by now.”

Gemma and her friend, introduced to Louis as Eleanor, come out of the flat and sit down in the backseat of the car, Gemma yelling at Harry about stealing shotgun from her.

“Right, so,” Louis says, turning the key in the ignition, “I will be driving us all back, because I do not trust any of you behind the wheel of this car. Alright?”

Everyone agrees, and Louis drives away, across the Tay River to the bright lights of Dundee.

* * *

 

Fat Sam’s is not the most exciting of nightclubs, and Louis finds it claustrophobic, too loud, and he nurses the one drink he’s allowing himself in a booth in a corner until Gemma, walking slightly unsteadily, comes and sits down with him.

“So,” she says, leaning across the table, looking serious in a way that is only possible with a certain level of alcohol in your system, “my brother has a huge crush on you.”

Louis has gathered this. He nods.

“I think you should go dance with him.” Gemma says earnestly.

“I’m not much of dancer, Gem-“

“No,” she says. “Come on, have a little fun, alright? You would literally make his night.” She grabs Louis by the wrist and nods at him. “Let’s go find Harry.”

* * *

 

He and Harry spill out of the front door of the nightclub, kissing furiously. Louis pushes Harry up against the brick wall beside the door, licking into his mouth and rolling his hips up against his crotch. Harry gasps, moans a little, and breaks the kiss, dropping his head back against the wall.

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis says, and he can feel a little bit alcohol and a whole lot of arousal coursing in his veins, “you can’t just dance like that.”

“It had the desired effect,” he replies, voice breathy.

Louis can still feel how Harry was grinding into him, like they were the only ones on the dance floor, and how he’d keep whispering dirty little things in Louis’ ear, telling him how much he’d like to blow him in the toilets or something like that. Harry has, in fairness, had quite a bit to drink, but Louis would like to hope that he’s just acting on impulses that have always existed, and that they aren’t going to wake up the morning and regret this whole thing as a drunken mistake.

Harry’s hands tease below the waistband of his trousers, and Louis swats them away until they settle back on his hips. “We’re in public, love. I think we’d shock that street pastor more than usual if we got too frisky here.”

“Right,” Harry sighs, and presses kiss to Louis’ neck, which is hotter than it has any right to be. “Can I come over to yours after we get home tonight?”

A zip of adrenaline runs down Louis’ spine, and he nods as Harry sinks his teeth into his neck. “Fuck, yes.”

“Can we go now?”

“Not without your sister and Eleanor, I don’t think,” Louis replies.

Harry huffs in frustration.

It takes an hour to find Gemma and Eleanor, and then another half-hour of driving, with Harry’s hand running gently up and down Louis’ thigh (“Harry, you have to stop that, I need to get everyone home safely”) before Louis and Harry are stumbling back inside Louis’ place in St. Andrews, barely breaking apart enough to get shoes off and stumble upstairs without waking Mark, a venture in which Louis suspects they are only partially successful. They fall onto Louis’ bed, Louis pressing Harry into the bed and marveling at how easily manhandled Harry is.

Louis’ brain is flicking through all the different scenarios, but Harry is holding him so tight, and keeps angling so their crotches rub together. The friction is exquisite, and Louis is pretty sure he could just come from that, already hard from Harry’s teasing, so he ducks his head back down and sucks a lovebite into the base of Harry’s neck, which has Harry moaning and squeezing Louis’ arse.

“So lovely, Lou,” Harry groans, his hips keeping up their rhythm. The bed creaks precariously as Louis pushes forward harder, and he quietly apologizes to Mark in the next room, who probably didn't sign up for this this summer. The heat pooling in his stomach is building, and from the way Harry’s movements are getting more erratic, his moans more breathy, so Louis grinds down harder, makes his kisses more brutal, because he suddenly really _really_ wants to hear what Harry sounds like when he comes.

He finds out about thirty seconds later, when Harry’s back arches clear off the bed and he moans into Louis’ shoulder, aftershocks coursing through his body. Louis just kissed him through it, tries to memorize everything, and is only a little surprised when Harry reaches to unbuckle his belt and shoves down his pants and trousers to give him a halfhearted handy. Just looking at Harry’s face – blissed out eyes, swollen lips – and comes, swallowing down his moans. He collapses on Harry’s chest, panting, and probably making a mess on Harry, but he’s too blissed out to care, and Harry’s big hand is spread out on his lower back, pinning Louis to him.

He presses another kiss to Harry’s collarbone, and falls asleep.

* * *

 

He wakes up alone, blanket tucked up under his chin, and he’s worried for a moment that Harry might have left, but then he hears the shower running in the bathroom next door, so he doesn’t worry at all, and stretches out and yawns, and rubs his eyes. He really needs to shower, and possibly wash his sheets too.

Harry comes back in to the bedroom, towel slung low around his waist and wet hair clinging to his neck. Louis wants to knock the towel away from his waist and kiss him silly, but he’s still tired, and not exactly sure where he and Harry stand after last night’s events.

“Morning!” Harry says cheerfully, grabbing Louis’ hairbrush and stationing himself in front of the small mirror on the dresser.

“Hey,” Louis replies. “Harry, I’ve got to ask – are you – are we – “

Harry puts the hairbrush down, and leans in to kiss Louis, slow and sumptuous. “Okay?” He says, after they break apart.

“Yeah,” Louis whispers. “Yeah, that’s great. Um, can I make you breakfast or anything?”

Harry nods, still sitting on the side of the bed. “That’d be nice. Gemma’s coming over in about an hour to bring me a change of clothes, because my ones from last night are a little, ah, messy.”

“Right,” Louis says with a laugh. “Sorry about that.”

“No need to apologise,” Harry replies, earnest. “I had a great time.”

Louis blushes, looks down, and runs a hand through his hair. “I’ll, uh, get started on breakfast, then.”  

He slips out of bed, and then heads downstairs, hands shaking slightly. He pulls eggs, bacon, and bread from the fridge, and gets started on breakfast, because if there was something he can do well, it’s a fry-up.

He hears Harry’s footsteps come down the stairs and into the kitchen as he whisks together eggs and milk for a scramble, and he sneaks up behind Louis, wraps his arms around his waist and tucks his chin on his shoulder. “Need any help?”

Louis shakes his head, and briefly contemplates how disgustingly domestic this might look, and how wonderful that makes Louis feel. “I think I’m alright. I’ll treat you, Harry.”

“Sweet,” he replies, rubbing a hand up and down Louis’ upper back and standing beside him.

“Have you stolen my clothes?” Louis asks, somewhat incredulous.

Harry shrugs. “We both kind of made a mess on the ones I had from last night, darling. The trousers are almost comically short, I’ll give you that, but I think I might keep the jumper.”

Louis thinks Harry wears the jumper better than he, but has to agree with his assessment on the trousers. Still though. He’s wearing his clothes. 

Harry isn’t good at being quiet, that much is obvious and apparent, but for now they’re quiet together.

* * *

 

Harry does not get his wetsuit, but, because he only has a week in St. Andrews left, which is a fact that Louis is trying not to dwell on, even though he and Harry have promised to keep in touch, he elects to go swimming one windy afternoon, with Louis and Gemma observing from a safely dry blanket, watching Harry wade in slowly.

“How’s the water, Haz?” Gemma calls, looking up from her book.

“Fucking cold,” he yells back.

“Language,” Louis rejoins. “There are children around.” Really, the most obscene thing going on right now is how Harry’s arse looks in his neon yellow swim trunks, and Louis is very much looking forward to planting his face in it later when there are so many people around them.

Harry wades forward, going past his knees, then to his upper thighs, then dives under, and Louis holds his breath instinctively until he resurfaces. He swims around, putting on a little bit of a show for Louis and Gemma, moving further and further away from shore.

Louis has been relaxing, shaking his head at Harry’s insanity, but suddenly he notices that something is very wrong. Harry’s facial expression has gone from excited to panicked, and he’s waving at Louis and Gemma desperately as he bobs up and down, getting pulled under and resurfacing.

“Shit,” Gemma says, standing up. “Do you think he’s okay?”

Louis genuinely does know, and he can see that Harry is yelling something, but he can’t quite figure out what.

Louis catches sight of a ring buoy, and dashes up the beach to pull it out of its plastic case. He holds on tight to the end of the rope, and throws it at Harry, but it doesn’t come close enough, and Harry continues to flail.

Suddenly, Louis’ heart completely bypasses his brain and he throws his shirt off and wades into the water. Gemma shouts after him, but he doesn’t hear him – all he can think is that he needs to get to Harry and bring him back.

The water is bracingly cold, and Louis wades through the waves, pushing him back towards the shore. He can still see Harry keeping himself afloat, just barely, and suddenly his feet can’t touch the sandy bottom, and he clings on to the ring buoy and kicks as hard as he can.

Louis has not so much as been in a calm, easy swimming pool for longer than he can remember, and the North Sea is significantly harder to navigate than a swimming pool. Harry probably isn’t that far away from shore, but to Louis it feels like miles and miles, and suddenly he’s spitting salt water out of his mouth and thinking about what it might be like to have to drag Harry back when he can barely keep himself afloat.

He finally gets within Harry’s general vicinity, and manages to push the thing towards him, and he grabs on, clinging like his life depends on it. Louis pulls back, and suddenly everything is slower, and the cold and the water are scrambling his brain, and he has a real fear that they’re both going to die here, and that’s even blaring through his mind when his feet can finally touch the sand again. He pulls on the buoy harder, trying to bring along Harry’s effectively dead weight, and he’s so cold and the taste of salt rings through his mouth that he’s pretty sure no one can hear his cries for help, and when he’s finally back on sand and crawling out of the water, dragging Harry with him, he knows that he’s screaming, but he can’t hear it.

Gemma’s desperate cries are the last thing he hears before he blacks out.


	2. Chapter 2

Mark is sitting in the hospital room when Louis comes to. It’s dark outside, and it wasn’t dark from when he last remembered.

“Hey,” he says, surprised at how raspy his voice was, “what time is it?”

Mark looks up at him, remarkably unimpressed, and replies, “Nearly eleven. Your mother is furious at you, and you need to call her soon.”

“Is Harry alright?” Louis says, as the afternoon’s events rush back to him, and suddenly he remembers, _yes, I pulled someone out of the North Sea, that’s probably why I’m in the hospital right now._

Mark sighs, and Louis’ stomach drops.

“No, no, not like that,” Mark replies, face softening. “He’ll pull through, but he’s got the tube-y thingy down his throat, and he’s under some pretty heavy sedation. He was barely breathing by the time they got him here.”

“Thanks,” Louis replies. He wonders when he can go see him, and give him a kiss on the forehead and tell him that everything’s alright.

“You,” Mark says, “are brave, but you’re fucking stupid, you know that?”

Louis nods.

“Now go and call your mother before she murders me, okay?”

* * *

 

Anne and Robin and Gemma all come to see him that night in shifts. They all thank him and reprimand him in equal measure, which doesn’t make Louis feel any better. Anne’s eyes are red with tears, and Louis has to wait until she leaves the room before he can break down, wracked with worry and regret, and wishing that he might be able to see Harry.

He spends that night in the hospital, but the powers that be seem to have concluded that he’s alright to go in the morning, because he can breathe and his core temperature has warmed up to a point where he isn’t at risk of imminent death. Mark brings him some clean clothes to put on, and then leads him down a hallway, where the frenetic pace of the ward becomes much quieter, and the only sounds are the clicks and beeps of heart monitors and other pieces of technology.

“He’s pretty out of it,” Mark whispers, and Louis nods. He dated a medic once, and he’d remembered hearing about intubation, how brutal a process it is. Still, if it’s keeping the air in Harry’s lungs, Louis is quite able to make his peace with it.

Anne and Gemma stand by the door of a small room, and both hug Louis and Mark when they get to outside the door.

“The nurse says you can have five minutes, Lou,” Gemma says, voice breaking. “Because you aren’t family.”

“Thanks,” Louis whispers and nods at her as he quietly opens the door.

Harry is pale, deathly pale, dark brown hair sprawled out on the pillow and a tube snaking out of his mouth. Louis pulls up a chair, tries to keep a handle on the sadness swelling just below the surface, and strokes his cheek gently.

Harry sort of opens his eyes, keeps them half-lidded, and turns his head towards Louis. Louis would like to think that he smiles then, but he knows that Harry is probably way too out of it for that.

“Hey, love,” he whispers, barely audible over the noises from the machines keeping Harry alive, “I’m happy you’re still here, okay?” He gently laces his fingers through Harry’s, his hand almost dwarfed by the younger boy’s, and then he cries, a little tear running down his cheek.

“You stay here,” Louis says, small sobs racking his chest. “Okay? You’re not going anywhere without me. Promise?”

He doesn’t talk after that, too worried about being an absolute mess, but gently strokes Harry’s hand, listens to the machines help him breathe, and when Anne knocks on the door to tell him that his time is up, he kisses Harry on the forehead, and whispers, “I’ll see you soon, love, okay?”

When he gets back outside with Mark and Anne and Gemma, he bursts into tears, unable to hold it back any longer, and the four of them stand there, group hugging and crying, until one of the doctors gently ushers them away. Mark takes Louis home then, but all he can think about is what he’s leaving behind at the hospital.

* * *

 

Of the seven days that Harry and his family have left in St Andrews, he spends four of them in the hospital. Louis visits him every day, brings him flowers and reads him books and talks, slowly and carefully, when he gets his voice back. When Harry comes back to the flat, Louis is there with the jumper he’d borrowed earlier, and a bag of revels and his favourite blanket, and makes sure that Harry has enough tea and cuddles to last him the long ride home. It turns out that Harry doesn’t remember much of his traumatic rescue, and Louis considers that as a positive, not wanting to remind him about how he nearly met his watery death on a summer vacation.

On Harry’s last night in St. Andrews, they’re curled up together in his bed, watching the first Captain America movie when Harry gently hits the spacebar looks over at Louis, eyes weighed down with sadness.

“Babe,” he says, “you promise me something, okay?”

“Anything,” Louis breathes, and he means it, even after only knowing Harry for this short time.

“This isn’t just a stupid summer thing?” Harry says, voice breaking a little, and Louis could cry again, but he doesn’t want to do that, has to stay together for Harry, so he just nods. “Like, you’re not going to stop calling when I go back home?”

“Never,” Louis whispers. “You call me the minute you get back to Holmes Chapel. I’ll come visit you from Manchester when you’re on holiday, and I’ll drag you to a United Match, even though you’ll totally hate it, but we’ll be together, I promise.”

“Good,” Harry whispers, and Louis wonders how much of this is real, and how much is borne of emotional vulnerability, but it still feels precious and fragile and pure, and almost blossoming into love that Louis can’t quite name. Harry kisses his temple. “Good,” he says again.

He’s asleep before the end of the movie, and Louis adds it to his mental list for what they’ll watch when they see each other again.

* * *

 

He’s mostly okay watching Anne and Robin pack the car, and gives Gemma directions to the bus station so she can get to Edinburgh and make her flight back down to London, but when Harry comes out, and Louis can see that he’s been crying, and that he’s also wearing Louis’ old Rovers jumper, then the tears start to flow. He hugs Harry so tight he’s not sure he can breathe, but he’ll be damned if he cares, because he needs to remember and feel as much of him as he can, because who the hell knows when they’ll see each other again.

“Give me until seven this evening,” Harry whispers. “I’ll call you by then. We should be home if the traffic’s not too bad.”

Louis nods, too overcome to speak. Harry kisses the top of his head.

“You don’t forget,” Louis says, trying to straighten out his wobbly voice. “Please.”

Harry kisses him, as though to seal the promise, and Louis can’t help but worry that it’s the last time, so he pulls him closer than is probably appropriate with parents watching. They break apart, and Louis slowly lets him go, watches him climb into the car and drive away, the hole in his chest growing a little more the farther away the car gets.

* * *

 

Louis and Harry talk most nights on the phone, and sometimes Louis just waits and listens to Harry’s breathing as he falls asleep, and then drifts off himself. It’s strangely intimate, and they spend a lot of time talking about the future, about what will happen when Harry’s down in London and Louis is in Manchester, which warms Louis’ heart, and he can’t wait for the time that he’ll spend with Harry, learning and discovering.

Harry doesn’t go on his training scheme, because his parents were still worried about his recovery from the incident – Louis can’t think of it in real terms, because it still brings back painful memories for him, so he spends a lot of time hill walking and watching Netflix. He and Louis watch Iron Man 2 at the same time one night, Harry messaging Louis his opinions as the movie goes on, and Louis wishes that Harry could come back and watch with him.

At the end of August, just as Louis is thinking about how much the summer has changed him, Harry asks if he can come and visit St. Andrews once more.

“You sure?” Louis replies, worried about latent trauma and what not.

“Yeah,” Harry replies, sighing. “I think – I think I just need to see you again, you know?”

_Oh._ “For sure, for sure. Just let me know when your flight comes in, okay?”

“Sure,” Harry replies.

* * *

 

Louis is bouncing back and forth on his feet at the domestic arrivals, adrenaline coursing through his system. He’s worried that something is wrong, that something’s going to be off between him and Harry, but he’s also insanely excited – he’s happy he gets another four days to spend with Harry, just hanging out.

He keeps an eye on Harry’s flight, as it lands, and he sticks his hands in his pockets, fidgets a little more, because he knows how small the airport is, and now that his flight his down, he’ll be out soon, Louis knows.

Then there he is, looking as ridiculous and beautiful as always, and Louis powerwalks towards him, because he can’t run in airport and look stupid, and then he’s in Harry’s arms again, burying his face in his shoulder and hugging him tightly.

“Baby,” Harry whispers. “God, I’ve missed you.”

At that point, there is no one else in the arrivals area exists, there’s no screaming children and people trying to find their bags, its’ all him and Harry and he feels like he can breathe again, that’s how overjoyed he is with Harry back in his arms.

“Me too,” Louis replies, and he knows that he has to move and they have to go back to the car and go home, but that would mean letting go of Harry, and he has no interest in doing that.

They break apart a little, foreheads resting against each other, and Harry doesn’t look any different or sound any different or feel any different, but something between them feels different. Perhaps, Louis thinks, it’s deeper.

He realizes that they’re maybe getting a little touchy for a public place, so he laces his fingers through Harry’s and leads him towards the parking lot.

“Good flight?” Louis asks, looking up at Harry, feeling practically giddy.

“It was fast,” Harry replies. “Not bad at all. How have you been?”

“Not much has changed since we talked like, last night,” Louis says, with a laugh. “But I’m good. I’m great. Much better since you’re around.”

He swears Harry blushes.

The ride home is quiet, and Louis purposely modifies their route so they don’t go past the beach, worried that it might bring back bad memories for him. Harry seems enthralled by the Fife countryside, and Louis doesn’t press further.

“So,” Louis says, as he locks the car, and Harry follows him up the front walk, “I’ve been teaching myself to cook, and I think I’ve bought some good ingredients and I’ll make up something delicious for us tonight, I think.” He unlocks the door, kicks off his shoes, and wonders what the hell he’s going to do next, fill up the silence between him and Harry.

He clears out of the vestibule, wanting to give Harry a little bit of space, when Harry sighs and says, “Lou, why didn’t you say anything?”

“About what?”

“Gemma told me what you did,” he says, face unreadable.

Ah. Harry doesn’t remember what had happened that day on the beach, particularly the part where Louis pulled him out of the water.

“I, uh,” Louis says, “I didn’t want to bring it back up again. Didn’t want to drag you through it again. I’m sorry for not telling you.”

Harry shakes his head. “Louis, why would you do something like that?”

How the hell is he going to answer that? He still hasn’t thought about what exactly had him running into the North Sea on that day, other than it was an automatic response, something he felt like he needed to do.

“Because,” he says, sighing, “because, uh, you were in trouble. And I had to.” There’s really no other reason needed, right?

Harry drops his rucksack and closes the gap between him and Louis, pressing their lips together. The kiss is searing and burning and passionate, and Louis can’t breathe, doesn’t want to breathe, only wants to inhale Harry for the rest of his days.

“You,” Harry says, his giant hands framing his face, “will not do anything like that ever again. You could have died, Lou!”

“I can’t promise,” he replies. “I think you bring out my stupid streak.”

Harry shakes his head. “I can’t – I can’t believe you. But, thank you. Thank you so much.”

Harry rests his head on Louis’ shoulder, sobs heaving, and Louis, well – there goes the famous stiff upper lip, he supposes. They stay like that, important things like _I don’t want to lose you_ and _I love you_ remaining unsaid (for now, Louis thinks).

* * *

 

Harry loves his dinner – chicken stuffed with mozzarella, wrapped with Parma ham and a side of mash, and then dinner logically leads to movies and brownies which Louis had to buy from Tesco because he burned the first batch, which logically leads to Louis and Harry completely ignoring the Edward Norton version of the Hulk because sitting in Harry’s lap, kissing up and down Harry’s neck and listening to his pretty, wonderful moans. 

“You,” Louis says, taking a brief breather from sucking a lovebite into the join between Harry’s neck and shoulder, “wanna move this upstairs?”

“Fuck.” Harry growls. The way his voice drops octaves when he’s turned on is infinitely sexy to Louis. “Yes.”

Harry tries to carry him upstairs, Louis’ legs wrapped around his waist, but only makes it about as far as the bottom of the stairs before setting Louis down gently. Louis laughs; giddy, he kisses Harry’s nose, and dashes upstairs, Harry following close behind. He swings the door to his room open, and Harry crowds him up against his wardrobe door, slipping his hands under Louis’ t-shirt to lift it up over his head. Louis is fast at work unbuttoning Harry’s top, and he shrugs it off his shoulders, and then suddenly they’re collapsing on Louis’ bed in a pile of giggles. Louis is laughing, because of course they’re the two most uncoordinated people on the planet, but then Harry’s marking him up, sucking a lovebite into the keyhole shaped space below his neck, and his laughter gives way to a moan. Harry’s hand is on his belt buckle then, and he looks up at Louis to ask permission, and Louis nods. Harry undoes his belt, slipping his trousers off his legs. He looks at the exposed skin for a moment, a man possessed, and then comes back to Louis and kisses him.

“So beautiful,” Harry whispers cautiously, and thumbs over one of Louis’ nipples. Louis sighs and smiles, shivers as Harry presses a line of kisses down to just above where his boxer briefs sit low on his hips, and gently mouths Louis’ cock through them. Louis’ legs shoot up and he gasps.

“Sorry,” Harry says, looking up at Louis. “Is this – is this alright?”

Louis nods, drops his head back on the pillow and closes his eye. Harry is a terrible tease, gently mouthing over his clothed cock until Louis is grinding down into the mattress, desperate.

“Please, Harry,” he whines, voice breaking. He’s so gone now, so desperate for Harry to do something other than tease, so it’s a major relief for him when Harry slips his briefs off and runs two fingers up the vein on the underside of his cock. Louis’ hand rests on one of his nipples, and he presses down on it harder when Harry finally, _finally_ gets his mouth on Louis’ cock.

He forces himself to open his eyes, and feels the arousal coiled low in his belly dangerously close to unspooling when he sees Harry, eyelashes fluttering and mouth and hand moving in tandem on Louis’ cock. It doesn’t escape Louis’ notice that Harry’s hips grind into the mattress almost of their own accord. Louis wraps his finger through Harry’s hair, which seems to spur him on, swallowing Louis down with what Louis can only describe as gusto.

Louis tries to keep still, but the moans escaping from his lips increase in volume, and his hips seem to be rocking up and down, matching Harry’s rhythm. One dry finger sneaks back towards Louis’ hole, and then suddenly he’s coming in Harry’s mouth and all over his face without a warning, back arching off the bed.

Harry slips back up Louis’ body and kisses him gently, big hands framing Louis’ head, and Louis can taste himself on Harry’s tongue and feel the bulge of Harry’s erection pressing into his thigh. It’s almost too much for him, the rough denim of Harry’s skinnies rubbing over his cock, still oversensitive and hazy from just coming. He figures, though, that the best way to deal with that particular problem is to help Harry get his jeans and pants off, which he does. Their bodies press against each other’s, gloriously naked, and Louis is overwhelmed by how soft Harry’s skin is and how responsive he is, shuddering when Louis kisses his shoulder. He can feel the muscles in Harry’s back ripple as they move together, and Louis thinks that right, this is it, he has no significant desire to do anything else but stay in this bed with Harry.

“Babe,” Harry whispers, grinding into Louis, “did you know that you have a really nice arse?”

Yes. Yes he does. “What are you trying to ask, babe?”

“Would kind of… would kind of like to fuck you,” Harry says sheepishly.

_Yes._ Louis can get behind this plan. “Off,” he says, and Harry pouts. “Just for a moment.”

He does have condoms and lube stashed away in his bathroom cabinet, just in case, really (though in all fairness he seriously overestimated precisely how much sex he'd be having this summer), and he climbs off the bed to go and grab them. When he comes back from the bathroom, Harry is lying on the bed, cock swollen against his belly, and Louis’ garbled brain thinks that yes, this is a good plan, this is a _very_ good plan.

He climbs over Harry, sort of sitting on his belly, and shoves lube into his hands.

“Come on then,” Louis says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Not going to prep myself.”

“God, no,” Harry murmurs. He shifts so Louis kind of half-rolls, half- falls beside him on the bed, and settles himself between Louis’ spread legs, tucking the tip of one finger inside. It’s been longer than Louis would like to admit, so he rocks back on Harry’s hand, trying to spur him on, but it only makes his motions more careful, more precise. Two fingers has Louis enjoying the pleasant stretch and burn: three curled up against his prostate have him digging his heels into the mattress and moaning wantonly. He's hard again, dick leaking against his stomach, and he wants to get Harry inside him.

“You ready?” Harry asks, and Louis nods. “How d’ya want it, babe?”

“Uh, thought a lot about riding you,” Louis whispers. He kneels and shifts over to the nightstand to grab a condom and Harry lies down, head propped up on a pillow. Louis rolls the condom on, slicks Harry up, and lines his cockhead up with his hole. The air is knocked out of Louis’ lungs as he starts to sink down, adjusting to Harry’s girth as he does. Harry keeps toying with Louis’ rim as he does, savouring the join between them, and keeps whispering little words of encouragement.

“Look so good taking me like this,” he whispers. “God, so tight.”

He bottoms out and just has to sit for a minute, has to look Harry, sweat sticking his hair to his neck, pupils blown out and lips red and swollen, and good god, Louis doesn't think he's seen a more beautiful sight. He rocks his hips forward slowly, trying to find the right angle, Harry’s hands on his arse spurring him on. He leans forward to kiss Harry, moving with more enthusiasm, and finally Harry’s cock lines up with his prostate and _ah, yes, that’s fucking fantastic._

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis sighs, as Harry fucks his hips up into hip, “you’re so fantastic, so good for me, babe.”

He knows he’s babbling and that’s probably kind of embarrassing, but he’s too far gone to care, not with Harry filling him up like this. His thighs are burning, which reminds him that he should probably be doing this a little more often, but he loves the way that Harry gasps a little when he bottoms out, which motivates Louis to put on a bit more of a show for him, rocking his hips back and moaning. He gets a hand around his cock but Harry swats it away and replaces it with his own. Louis leans back, moaning wantonly and grinding down on Harry’s cock harder, and he knows that this will be over soon by the way his orgasm is building, and he fucks himself down on Harry’s cock once more, snug up against his prostate, and he’s done, spurting come all over Harry’s stomach. He fucks down on Harry with abandon, then, trying to draw his orgasm out of him.

“Come on babe,” he whispers, wincing and moaning at the oversensitivity, “come for me, yeah?”

Harry groans and spreads his hands on Louis’ hips, quickly fucking up into him one, two, three time, and comes with a moan. Louis collapses on Harry’s chest, too fucked out to move. Harry’s cock slips out of him as he goes soft, and Louis clenches momentarily around nothing, missing the sensation of being full.

The whole post-coital cuddling while covered in come thing gets kind of old fast, and because Louis is a good host, he rolls the condom off Harry, and waddles to the bathroom to grab a couple of flannels.

Harry’s eyes are closed when Louis comes back, but he livens up a little when Louis swipes the warm cloth over his belly, he comes to a little, and smiles at Louis.

“Ah, thanks,” he says, taking over the task of cleaning himself up.

Once they’re both clean enough to sleep, Louis snuggles up against Harry’s back, one arm slung over his waist. He kisses the spot between Harry’s shoulderblades, and then says, “Harry, you know I love you, right?”

“Yeah,” Harry responds, but Louis can hear the smile in his voice.

“Okay, good. G’night, Harry.”

“Love you too, Lou.”

* * *

 

“Was thinking,” Harry says cautiously, toying with his shirt while they eat breakfast the next morning, “could we maybe go watch the sunset on the beach tonight?”

“Which one – oh,” Louis says. Truth be told, he hasn’t even been back since the incident with Harry, and maybe it’s time, or maybe Louis doesn’t want to go close to the sea ever again. He hasn’t really properly processed his feelings on the matter. “Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

Harry nods. “I think so.”

“I guess we could manage that, then,” Louis says.

So that night, well in advance of the sunset, Louis packs up a couple of blankets and a couple of beers, and they walk through the winding streets of St. Andrews, the late evening sun casting funny shadows on the old buildings as they do. Harry is silent, almost solemn, and that’s different for him – Louis is used to bad puns and trivia.

They stay where the sand is soft, well back from where the tide is rolling in, and Louis lays one blanket out on the ground for them to sit on. Harry slips his shoes off, curls his toes in the warm sand, and Louis sits beside him, arm around his waist pressing his fingers into Harry’s hips.

Louis doesn’t remember much clearly from that day, but this time on the beach couldn’t be more different – it’s quieter, for one, with the tourists filing out of town and leaving a small gap between when the students begin arriving, they’re the only ones that Louis can see on the beach, so compared to the chaos of the last time they were here, it’s calm and placid. Harry is still quiet, pressed into Louis’ side as they watch the sun slowly sink down, changing the blue sky into shades of pink and red and purple.

Louis rubs Harry’s back, trying to be quiet and supportive, but Harry is fine, and Louis is probably projecting his own worry on to him, and when Harry leans in to kiss him, they stay with their foreheads resting together, caught in an intimate moment. Finally, the sun fully disappears, and the slightest nip of autumn air rushes in with the wind, and Louis figures they should probably go home, where it’s much warmer and less sandy.

“Shall we?” Louis asks, standing up and dusting himself off.

Harry nods, stands up, and they leave together, hand in hand.

 

_Fin_

**Author's Note:**

> *puts on former lifeguard hat*
> 
> DO NOT DO WHAT LOUIS DOES HERE, IT IS BRAVE, BUT IT'S DUMB, AND YOU MIGHT NOT MAKE IT, SO JUST CALL FOR HELP AND DON'T GO INTO THE WATER AFTER SOMEONE IF YOU AREN'T TRAINED TO DO THAT THING, PLEASE. 
> 
> *takes off former lifeguard hat*
> 
> come find me on [tumblr](http://gallifreyandglowclouds.tumblr.com/), i will only rickroll you once or twice


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